


Gold

by spacesix



Series: Shorts [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacesix/pseuds/spacesix
Summary: Gavin never called himself the golden boy, no one in the crew did really. The ones who dubbed him that are those who don’t know him. Gavin simply loved the color yellow; it reminded him of where he was, who he was, what he was.





	Gold

Gavin never called himself the golden boy, no one in the crew did really. The ones who dubbed him that are those who don’t know him. Gavin simply loved the color yellow; it reminded him of where he was, who he was, what he was. He lived on the famed “Golden Coast of America” now, in the grand, roaring city known as Los Santos; far, far away from the dreary grays and blues of England. 

Gold was the color of the streaks of the setting sun on the waves at the pier that faded into brilliant ambers and oranges and pinks and violets; and the color of the searing daytime heat and the happiness that radiated off the people as they walked out of their penthouse apartments and onto the beach.

It was the color of the laughter that bubbled out of the boardwalk ice cream parlor that, whenever the door opened, drifted into the cool night air to where Gavin sat on the equally yellow sand dunes.

It was the color that shone out of skyscraper office windows at midnight when corporate pirates checked their comma-laden bank account balances, and the color of the bars of precious metals that flowed into and out of the city like a lazy river.

Yellow was the color he buried himself in, because, as everyone always told him, “you have to dress for the life you want, not the one you have.”

Reflective gold sunglasses that showed nothing but the reflection of those looking into them; gold-plated bars and studs and clips dotting his lobes and cartilage that he rarely ever could be bothered to take out unless they needed to be cleaned; cheap but shiny coils of metal bangles that jingled when he spun them around his wrists idly and ‘ting’ed against the keyboard as he typed; bleach-blond hair that never seemed to get crunchy no matter how much peroxide he used in a month to hide the dark brown roots; skin tanned even darker than normal from constant exposure to the heat and sun.

He was loud and brash and shiny and new and thrilling, all with a dark underbelly full of secrets and danger that everyone but those involved chose to ignore in favor of the pretty exterior.

Every word he spoke dripped with both sinister venom and promises of golden fame; a piece of the forbidden fruit ripe for all his clients’ taking. 

His cheerful smiles shone as bright as the desert sun at noon and his cheeky brushes of his fingertips left trails of heat, even when his eyes were as dark as pitch.

His knives looked like rough-cut stone, with their rocky spines and polished-smooth strips of raw gold ore and glowing white quartz marbling the blade, but were as wicked and cold as any tempered steel could be.

He was Los Santos personified. 

He was the Golden Boy.

**Author's Note:**

> Aesthetic™
> 
> catch me at spaceholts.tumblr.com


End file.
